


🖇partners

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Future, Hurt/Comfort, Light Pain Play, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Rimming, Trauma Recovery, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: A few years in the future, Malcolm makes some life adjustments to better manage his health. As partners, Gil and Malcolm look out for each other, and Gil helps him recover from a traumatic experience.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	🖇partners

**Author's Note:**

> a gigantic thank you to the wonderful TheCosmicMushroom for betaing, giving detailed feedback for improvement, and enthusiasm for me writing this fic :) a big thank you to the cheering section over on discord as well <3 you all.

Starting the morning without his partner was... unusual. There wasn't any talking from downstairs. No lively music from the stereo. No surprise visits to his shower.

Just... quiet.

An unwelcome sound in the loft.

Gil hurried down the stairs to check on Malcolm, eager to do anything that would help the situation. Curled up on his side in the middle of the bed, he lay with restraints around his wrists, covers up to his chin. The same position he'd been in an hour earlier. Equally awake.

Gil sat on the edge of the bed. Again. Rested his hand on his partner's shoulder. “Bright, ya gotta take your meds," he reminded, the kid's entire pharmacy resting in his palm.

Malcolm took the pills from his fingers, ignored the water he'd set on the nightstand, and swallowed them dry. Gil didn't bother to argue that he needed to eat and drink something — that could go back on the list once he was able to get out of bed.

"Are you going to call in for class?" He’d leave him with the choices, even if they made his stomach roll with worry. Things got worse when his partner felt out of control.

"I can't do that," Malcolm's first words were crackly with exhaustion.

He rubbed his back, not knowing what he could do to help. Things had gone downhill overnight. "I — "

"Can you pick out a suit?" Malcolm's fingers fumbled trying to undo one of the latches on the cuffs of his restraints.

"I've got it," Gil said, sliding off both cuffs. He kissed one wrist, then the other, trying to give him some comfort. "I'll be right back."

Gil went to the closet, selecting a favorite charcoal suit, shirt, patterned blue tie, and dark socks, a friendly uniform of normalcy when things were far from it. He brought them all back to the bed, laying them across the end.

"Can I help you to the shower?" Gil asked.

"Not today." Malcolm slowly pushed himself up in bed, his face carved with aggravated pain.

"I wish you'd reconsider." Supporting his partner’s decisions didn’t mean he couldn’t make his own opinion known. If Malcolm was going to insist on working, maybe he could get him to try to do it a little more comfortably.

Malcolm removed the covers and reached for the bottom of his shirt. He winced when he got it to his shoulders.

"At least let me help," Gil requested, easing the t-shirt the rest of the way off for him.

Malcolm laid his head on Gil's shoulder, taking a moment to breathe.

“Bright — " He'd rather hurt himself than admit he needed support.

"Slide the sleeves onto my arms, and I can button it up."

"Can you look at me a minute?" Gil held his chin, thumb in his short stubble, and their eyes met. "It's okay that you're not okay."

Malcolm nodded and leaned forward, catching Gil's lips in a brief kiss. His lip wobbled as he pulled back and said, "I need to work."

"Rest for a second — I'll do it all, if you want."

"Okay."

Gil pulled on all of Malcolm's clothes, letting him take care of the details like buttons and belt. He tied his tie, tapping to make sure it was just right, then helped his arms into the jacket. "Breakfast?"

"Just work."

"Let's give you the express ride." Gil picked him up and carried him up the stairs, Malcolm’s head staying tucked into his chest, only shifting a little bit while he walked. He delivered his precious cargo to his office chair, thankfully the most comfortable money could buy. "Anything else I can get you?" he asked, straightening his hair with a few fingers. "Want some gel for this?"

"Okay. And maybe some water."

Gil meticulously fixed his hair like Malcolm had done it himself and rested his hands on his shoulders.

"Thank you. I'm good. You can go to work," Malcolm directed, dismissing Gil now that he was where he wanted to be.

“Bright — "

"I'm just gonna be teaching all day. Office hours." He gestured at his laptop as if its presence would assuage any of Gil's concern. It didn't, but an ensuing argument would only make things worse.

"Try to get a nap if you can." Gil bent to kiss him, a soft press of _love you, see you later_. "Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks."

When Gil and Malcolm grew into partners, Malcolm decided to adjunct teach and consult at a college, which then grew to multiple criminal psychology classes on his way to a full professorship. It was more than their relationship that prompted the change — Malcolm also needed a shift for his health.

The precinct was full of triggers Malcolm couldn’t box enough to avoid being exposed. Cases weren’t predetermined, and sometimes evidence brought reactions they couldn’t predict, sending him spiraling for days. He was excellent at managing, would even keep himself going without sleep if that meant curbing a problem, but the cumulative effects were damning. Faced with death or some changes to his life, he chose to attempt a healthier environment with new coping mechanisms.

Health they had worked so hard together to improve, Gil, an unwavering lifeline.

Yet it was crumbling before their eyes.

Gil didn't want to go to work so he could be close by in case Malcolm needed his help. So he could hold him to protect him from anything. So they could just... be.

But the reality was they couldn’t do that. They both had responsibilities, and skirting around them left Malcolm feeling more damaged. In a world where so many things harmed him, Gil didn’t want to add to the stack towering over his shoulder.

So he pulled away, heading for the precinct.

* * *

The team got called to a murder investigation before Gil made it in, the screech of the radio rattling with worry in his head, creating a jumbled succotash that wouldn’t even please avant-garde foodies. Out in the Bronx, so Gil kept driving past the precinct until he caught up with them.

“How’s Bright?” Dani asked, waiting just on the other side of the crime scene tape held up by a uni.

He nodded in place of addressing the question, wanting some space between his work and partner at home if he would have any chance of focusing. “What’ve we got?”

“DOA in a storage tub.” Her lips quirked to the side, clearly displeased he'd bypassed her concern.

“Edrisa?”

“Working — she’ll call us in when ready,” JT said from beside Dani. “It’s pretty rank in there.”

Gil nodded.

“His love of Spider-Man was… unparalleled,” Dani commented, eyebrows emphasizing her point.

“You're talking about action figures when there's a replica of a twelfth century sword as a murder weapon?” JT said, his disbelief revealing wielding one was the bigger story.

Gil looked at his phone, checking his partner hadn’t texted him. Nothing yet. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was that Malcolm was toughing it out by himself when he shouldn’t be. He could never tell until it was too late.

“Could we stop by or something, Gil?” JT offered. “I know he’s having a hard time.” 

Gil slipped his phone back in his pocket when he realized JT had been watching him. “Not right now,” he declined. Malcolm would be furious if he drew an audience. “But maybe in the future when he’s feeling a little better.”

“Gil — “ Dani’s tone tried to sway him to get more of an answer to her original question, but he cut her off.

“He’s alright. You know Bright, fine, fine, _fine_.” He gestured his flat hand, chopping in the air.

“Yeah, until he isn’t,” JT said under his breath.

“Not now, alright?” he put a stop to any further questioning. They had work to do.

* * *

Thoroughly examining the scene turned into several veins of follow up work at the precinct, something that would keep the three of them busy for quite some time. There wouldn’t be any skipping out early, even if the notion was appealing.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it home for lunch,” Gil said over the phone, taking a break from a report on his desk. While Dani and JT looked into the victim’s collection of Spider-Man figurines and the origins of the sword found on scene, he was working on who owned the building or would have had access with a key.

“It’s really alright,” Malcolm’s voice came across with a sigh. Was he tired? Of course he was. More pain? Did he need help?

“I can order you something,” Gil offered, idly running his finger back and forth across his desk.

“I’m not hungry. Plus…” he trailed off, leaving Gil to try to interpret what he was thinking.

“Plus what?”

“Never mind.”

Gil could practically see his head bow and try to turn away. “Bright — “

“When you get home, alright? Not now. I-it’s fine for a few hours.”

The shutters rolling down, the conversation was closed. “Alright. Give ‘em all the hard assignments.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Smartass,” he grumbled, wishing they were talking instead of parting.

“You know it.”

He ended the call, no less worried than he had been when it started.

* * *

Gil managed to get out of the precinct two hours later than usual, usual being a flexible term from case to case. Entering the loft to quiet, he didn't see Malcolm anywhere on the first floor, so he padded up the stairs. Not in his office — good, he wasn’t still working. He looked in the open door of the bathroom, finding Malcolm’s head laying against the side of the tub with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” he said quietly, kneeling down in front of him and brushing his hair back from his face.

Malcolm gave a small smile at his touch. Gil looked over his back, finding his mottled skin in yellows and greying purples. Tracing it carefully along the outside where his skin was clear of bruises, his fingers touched the surface of the bath. “Water’s cold — you wanna come out?” he asked.

“Was too comfortable. Then too tired,” Malcolm’s sleepy voice said.

“I can rub some arnica into your bruises.”

“Mmm-kay.” It was rare to get Malcolm this relaxed, and he’d do his best to prolong it. Had he taken something? Maybe dipped into some of the valerian tea?

Gil pulled him up from the tub and wrapped him in a plush oversized towel before helping him sit on the edge. Malcolm leaned against the wall, letting Gil do all the work of drying his legs and feet.

"We got called out to a murder today," Gil said, knowing a case might be comforting. "Wanna hear about it?"

"Any triggers I need to worry about?"

"No." He wouldn't have mentioned it if there were. He could hold back the problematic bits.

"Please."

"The guy had a Spider-Man shirt. Whole bunch of action figures,” he said, playing up the parts that were sharing friendly.

"Have anything to do with his death?" Malcolm's voice hinted that everyone had hobbies that might seem odd to someone else, but that didn't mean they were relevant.

It was something Gil had heard enough times, so he picked up on it and moved on, since they hadn’t traced their involvement. "Death by medieval sword." He left out the whole finding him in a storage tub part, steamer trunks and all.

"Another one for the department of falling sword death."

"JT's the chair. Excalibur-level stuff." Pocketing the arnica, Gil slid his arms under Malcolm’s legs and back and carried him toward his bedroom down the hall.

“Enthusiast?”

“A guy with a grudge keen on doing a lot of damage. Not sure who yet.”

“Muscular.”

“Like you.” Gil lowered him to the bed and sat beside him, warming the arnica in his fingers before applying it to one of the smaller bruises on his shoulders.

“You, too.” Malcolm’s face turned to poke out from where he lay on his stomach.

“Yeah, you’re such a burden to carry around,” Gil feigned shock, continuing his path to rub the gel into larger bruises down his back.

“I can walk.” He folded his arms underneath his head.

“I’m joking.”

“I know.”

“How was class?”

Malcolm’s eyes closed while Gil worked, but he couldn’t tell if it was because the soothing was working or he wanted to avoid the topic. “Same old, same old — you know?” Malcolm sighed. “Everyone wondering when campus will open again.”

“They’re only doing it out of an abundance of caution.” Malcolm’s muscles tensed under his hands, revealing perhaps the stress hadn’t dissipated as he had hoped.

“There’s nothing to worry about if they were only going after one guy, and he’s stuck in his loft.”

Gil stilled his hands and kissed his neck. “You’re not stuck. I can take you wherever you wanna go.”

“I am. My head doesn’t wanna go anywhere.”

Gil shifted lower on the bed so he could pull Malcolm’s head into his chest and kiss his cheek. “How about here?” He wound his legs into his, folding their bodies together down the length.

Malcolm took a deep breath, his lower lip quivering. 

In what he hoped was a distraction, Gil kept soothing his cheek with his fingers. “I’m here.”

Malcolm fought for several minutes, yet his tears leaked out, falling over Gil's side to the comforter underneath them. He fell asleep wrapped in the safety of Gil’s arms.

* * *

They didn’t typically sleep together, and when they did, it was downstairs where Malcolm could have the assurance of being buckled in to his restraints. Though Malcolm had been pulled under by exhaustion, it was still early, so Gil didn’t try to sleep himself. Rather, he stayed on the lookout in case his partner struggled with a nightmare.

It didn’t take long. He was talking him awake within the hour. Low coos and nonsense one-sided conversations, all intended to ease him from restless sleep in the least stressful manner.

Disoriented at first turned into snuggling back into his arms, Malcolm’s hair fanned out against the pillow. “You cold?” Gil asked from behind him.

He shook his head. “Got you.”

“I can get your robe,” Gil said into his ear.

“Stay,” Malcolm requested, and Gil gave him a brief, tighter squeeze. Malcolm sighed. “They want to give me preferential treatment.”

He knew his partner wanted nothing to do with special accommodations. “How do you mean?”

“Keep teaching from home when campus reopens next week.” Malcolm clicked his tongue.

“You set the pace, Bright. Whatever you wanna do, I’ve got you.” He nuzzled his ear.

“I don’t know," Malcolm admitted. He sounded as confused as Gil felt some days. In many ways, it mirrored their early relationship, always trying to feel out what they were comfortable with and speaking out when they weren't.

“That’s an okay answer, too.”

“I’d like to be in the right headspace to spend the day out with my partner, come home and have the evening to ourselves — “ He sounded wistful, longing for something outside his grasp, as if it would never be attainable again.

“Hey — “ Gil ran his finger along the side of his face.

“I know. I just — want to.”

“How ‘bout a walk around the block?” Maybe he could distract him a little bit, start him off with an easy jaunt outside the loft knowing they could turn back at any time.

“I — “

“I’ll get you some shorts, and we can head out.” If he did all the work, maybe —

“I’ll get ready. Just… give me a few minutes," Malcolm said instead.

Malcolm slid out of bed and Gil walked with him, giving him some distance, yet staying close enough in case he had any issues getting down the stairs. Outside at all was progress Gil would gladly take, no matter how far they got.

* * *

Malcolm’s oversized, open knit cardigan mimicked nets used for trawling fish, a whim of a purchase when they spent a weekend at Block Island and it got chilly in the evening as they huddled together on the beach waiting for sunset. It became a mainstay of comfort, coming out of the drawer whenever he craved something to hide his hands in. Whenever his tremor became too much and he wanted something to hold tight.

The sweater reached halfway down his shorts, his t-shirt peeking through underneath. Heather grey on blue — Gil’s thumb poked through one of the holes, rubbing back and forth against the soft material at his hip. They walked around the block together, mostly leaning into each other, partly ambling forward to an unknown destination.

“This isn’t so bad,” Malcolm admitted, his head tucked into Gil’s Yankee t-shirt under the arm.

“Good to know you’re not tired of me,” he teased, squeezing him a little tighter against him.

“Gil — “

“I’m joking.” He tipped his head to the side, temple connecting with the top of Malcolm's head.

The faint scent of cinnamon and cloves identified they were nearing the tea room they’d been to several times, its outside benches empty in the darkness, all the patrons inside. Gold lettering and warm windows were the only parts that shined, the liveliness of the leafy hand-painted, green-trimmed front mostly hidden in the low light.

They’d usually go in the back to a dim area sectioned off with bamboo, sit on the floor on a mishmash of tortoiseshell and dotted pillows, and order a few different small pots of whatever was new, the variety as eclectic as the number of cultures the space’s design drew inspiration from. They’d talk about cases, ideas for new adventures, what the next day might bring, sometimes people watching the few patrons around them to guess their preferred teas.

Usually. Their first walk together out of the house in nearly a week didn’t fit that description. “Could I get us some tea? Sit out here?” Gil suggested in a tone that offered that, if Malcolm wasn’t comfortable, they could just go home.

“Okay,” Malcolm said without hesitation.

“Sit — I’ll take care of everything.” With a rub to his side, he entered the small shop, white Christmas lights lining the door’s glass.

Inside, so many different spices wafted that they weren’t discernible, leaving behind a pleasant feeling of warmth, instead. The entire front of the space filled with patrons, the buzz of activity was a bit jarring compared to their walk. Gil sneaked a peek at Malcolm through the window while he spoke with the hostess, finding him just as he’d left him. He stuck to their usual routine, picking one of the newest fragrant brews and one that seemed especially soothing, yet changed it up when he asked for to-go cups. Letting the hostess know they were sitting just outside, he returned to his partner.

“They have a new herbal. Some relaxing properties to it,” he shared as he sat beside Malcolm and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. His thumb went through one of the holes again, this time soothing his upper arm.

“So, you got it in bulk, huh?”

“Could both use it.”

“I’m too much.”

“Never.” Gil kissed his temple. Malcolm’s un-gelled hair flopped over his eyes, giving something for Gil to sweep back from his face.

The sweater’s cuffs spilled over Malcolm’s hands, his fingers pulling back in to hide completely. “No one ever came after me at the precinct," he said, kneading the material. "I ticked people off, sure, and there were plenty of suspects who caused trouble, but never someone I worked with.”

“You think you know the guy?”

“‘Death to Malcolm Whitly!’ sure made it seem that way. Alternatively, ‘we don’t need The Surgeon’s spawn having tenure here on campus,’ makes it pretty clear.” His voice was sad, frustrated, and Gil wished there was something he could do to erase the attack. Not capable of that type of magic, catching who was responsible was the second best option.

“You didn’t tell me that last part,” Gil spoke evenly, not sharing any of his own hurt over the new information.

“Came in email last night,” Malcolm revealed.

“After I went to bed," he deduced. Responsible for all of his new unrest. As if his first few sleepless nights due to pain weren’t enough.

Malcolm nodded.

“You’ve gotta turn it over to the detective,” Gil directed. A different precinct was in charge. He could make sure the case got attention, but he was only a spectator.

“I will. It’s just… not gonna help,” he said, defeated, like any effort toward the cause was wasted.

“You can’t be so sure.”

“You know how this goes, Gil.”

A waitress brought out their tea in a cardboard carrier and handed it to Gil. He thanked her and set it on both of their legs. “This one is strawberry passionfruit,“ Gil pointed, “and that’s the relaxation one.”

“Can I try a sip of yours?” Malcolm requested.

“You can have either.”

“Just a sip.” Malcolm blew across the hole and sipped a little, the strong berry scent overpowering. “Alright, that’s a bit hot.” He handed it off to Gil then took his out of the carrier before Gil set it aside.

Malcolm held the cup between his padded hands, the warmth seeping into his fingers. Setting his cup back in the carrier beside him on the bench, Gil left it in safe keeping until it cooled.

“It was good,” Malcolm said, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips.

“I’ll wait until it gets below molten.” His partner might like the pain, but he didn't need the burns.

Malcolm smirked.

“Will you call the detective tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

He’d gotten Malcolm to walk around almost the whole block — maybe he could help him be open to further. “Is there something I could do to help you feel more comfortable heading out?” Gil asked.

Malcolm pressed his cup against his face from below his nose to his chin. “Not laugh at me if I end up wearing jeans and a hoodie?”

“I wouldn’t laugh — one of my favorite outfits of yours.” Gil rubbed his upper arm. “You cold?”

“And together, of course,” Malcolm continued, ignoring him.

“That’s a given.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been — “

The word he'd heard a dozen times over the past week. "Bright, one more apology out of you — “

“Can you tell me more about your case?” Malcolm took a sip of his drink.

“Spider-Man?”

“I thought we already established that wasn’t pertinent information,” his tone carried slight annoyance that the irrelevant detail had been brought up again.

“So, he took Excalibur,” Gil started, and the two of them lounged together sipping their tea.

* * *

Malcolm woke before his alarm. He shut it off, not wanting to disturb Gil, and made his way to the bathroom. _Today is the day_ , he encouraged himself through his morning routine. _Today is the day_ , he reminded when his brain wanted to go back to bed. He skipped the hair dryer and worked on all the pieces of his suit. Some got caught more than he wanted as he angled around stiff muscles, but looking in the mirror, he was close enough to presentable. He swiped a last touch of gel through his hair and stole away to his office.

Gil poked his head in, hair still mussed from sleep, the very picture of a man he wanted to snuggle for another hour. "You know, most folks work from home in their pajama pants,” he teased, crossing to give Malcolm a hug.

Malcolm shrugged. “Since when have I been normal?”

“Funny. You need anything?”

Malcolm slid his hand up under Gil's t-shirt, fingers crawling across his back for warmth. “I’m good.”

Gil kissed the top of his head. “Alright. Gotta get this ready to head to the precinct.”

“This?” Malcolm teased back, moving his finger around in a silly pattern gesturing at Gil as he walked away.

“The technical term.” Gil smirked and slipped out the door.

* * *

Malcolm _mostly_ did what he was supposed to. Called the detective to share the email. Taught the day’s two criminal psychology classes with office hours in between.

Took a cab to go see Dr. Whitly.

Perhaps that wasn’t the greatest idea. He’d stopped seeing his father, and Gil wouldn’t be pleased his furthest adventure in a week was to Claremont.

Without him.

Prickles in his stomach revealed he was knowingly breaking their unspoken agreement. He went with Gil to see Jackie, Gil went with him to see Dr. Whitly.

Simple, really.

But Malcolm was a glutton for punishment. Apparently getting pushed down a flight of stairs into a sunken quad wasn’t enough. To get the answer of why, he’d subject himself to more.

Because when that attacker mentioned his father, he figured why not go to the source to find out why? Because when things went awry, how often was his father _not_ the source of the problem?

 _Today is the day_ , he reminded himself as he turned over his identification to the security guard at Claremont’s front desk inspection.

“Go ahead, Mr. Bright,” the guard instructed.

 _Today is the day_.

His shoes took him forward to the cell he hadn’t visited in over a year. He didn’t know if his feet were under his command any longer or if they were entranced following a different tune.

* * *

The curly puffball-top of a man looked the same. A little more salt fell out of the shaker, peppered in with his muddy brown hair, making its way straight to his snarky lips. “My boy! You forget the address?” Malcolm kept his face passive through Dr. Whitly’s sardonic smile. “Dear old dad missed you. Might want to check your mail carrier — didn’t seem to get a birthday card.”

Malcolm ignored him. “I’m here to discuss a case.”

“Oh, like you getting pummeled? Just how many bruises are you hiding under that jacket?” The questions continued on, trying to rattle his cage, yet they bounced off Malcolm’s suit, unanswered.

“I wasn’t beaten.”

“The news said you were _attacked_.” Dr. Whitly looked at him with questioning, taunting eyes. How nice of the news to report on his personal life.

“There was an… incident.”

“You versus quad, and _spoiler alert_ ,” he said lightly, lobbing darts, then giving sympathetic eyes. “You lost. Only thing I don’t know is how many cracked ribs you’re sporting.” He eyed his posture. “Two, three? Go for a full half dozen?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s for parking violations. Speaking of which, how did you get here? I know you’re not driving. You wouldn’t tell your mother — “

“The case, Dr. Whitly.”

“Dad,” Dr. Whitly corrected.

They were going to need to agree to disagree on that point. “The attacker mentioned your name in the altercation.”

“So, it’s personal.” His eyes glowed with the additional interest of notoriety. 

“I need to be able to go back to work,” Malcolm indicated, attempting to keep him focused.

“Slumming it at the college? Surely all those years of education could have gotten you into something better.”

Better? Right. Like nearing a full professorship was something to be ashamed of. He just needed to decide if he wanted to pursue further education to see it all the way through. “Was this you trying to scare me away?”

“No. Easier ways to do that. I know enough to get you fired.” The threat rolled off his tongue plainly in typical fashion — get distracted, and the man's vehemence would be missed.

“So, what then?”

“Maybe I wanted to have a little chat.”

“Manipulation?” He couldn’t put it past his father, but he wouldn’t _hurt_ him. Didn’t fit his behavior pattern. Bluffing? Why?

“Do you realize I can tell what you’re thinking?” Dr. Whitly looked through him. “Don’t even have to say a word.”

Malcolm didn’t fall for the ruse.

“I could snap this red line right down the middle of your face. Give that lieutenant some chalk to lick off.” Malcolm’s eyes dropped in horror, yet he didn’t speak. Had that made the news, too? Or was Gil’s scent so strong he could pick it up from across the room? Had someone told him? Was it a guess and _he_ just told him?

“You’re _remarkably_ well-behaved today,” Dr. Whitly pulled the strings to provoke the reaction he desired.

Malcolm stood steady, not giving the man the pleasure of seeing him rattled.

“You think I don’t know about your extracurriculars? Calling him was betrayal enough. You had to bed him, too? You _are_ your mother’s son.”

“I’m leaving,” Malcolm said firmly, turning on his heel and banging the door for Mr. David.

“Always a runner,” Dr. Whitly goaded him. “Daddy issues, so had to find another daddy?”

Thankfully, the door swung open, and Malcolm escaped before Dr. Whitly could anger him into something he didn’t want to say.

He kicked the wall once he got outside, every spike of anger shooting out of him and into the brick. He pounded that wall until his anger pooled into a heap on the ground against the building. Never mind his suit pants would get dirty. Never mind the jacket might get roughed up against the brick. Never mind there were other places he should be.

There was only one thing he wanted to do.

“Gil — I went outside,” he said into the phone when Gil picked up.

“That’s good,” Gil encouraged, his voice warm and supportive.

“I also did something questionable,” he admitted, the weight of the decision keeping him on the ground.

“Murder questionable? Or ice cream sundae questionable?” Gil joked.

“Went to see Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm said, awaiting blowback.

“So murder,” Gil said, his tone neutral.

“Don’t have good sorbet at Claremont,” Malcolm tried to continue the joke.

“I thought — “

That they did questionable things like this together? That he was still on his ass in the loft? That, sure as hell, there were better things his healing ass could do than go visit his father? "I know. I'm sorry." Malcolm went silent, contemplating how angry Gil would be. If Gil went to visit Jackie without him, Malcolm would feel… a little hurt, but try to understand. Wonder if Gil was okay. Wonder if there was anything he could do.

Gil’s voice broke him away from his thoughts. “I can come get — “

"I'm gonna go home. Just wanted to tell you." He pushed himself up from the ground.

“Thank you. I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay?”

“Thanks, Gil.”

He got back in the cab and closed his eyes for the ride home.

* * *

It wasn’t him. For all of the things his father had done, this wasn’t one of them.

It would have been much easier if it was. Wouldn’t it?

Or maybe someone was just angry. Could that be easier? Maybe he could just go back on campus, and it wouldn’t happen again?

Maybe he’d fall a little further the next time. To a place he couldn’t leave the loft. To a place Gil couldn’t help.

Gil.

He was inside the door waiting for him when he got home. Pulled him into his chest and rubbed Malcolm’s back, flooding his nose with the rich scent of sandalwood. “I was worried,” Gil admitted, holding him close.

“I’m okay. Really,” Malcolm added when Gil pulled him away to look him in the eyes.

“What’d he say?”

Was his face that obvious? “He knows.”

“I’m guessing you’re not talking about who’s behind this.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed a little at the corners and he repeated, “What’d he say?”

“Something crass. Not worth it.” He’d already lost enough breath over that man for ten lifetimes.

He let Gil spend a moment looking him over, confirming his well-being himself.

“Did you get the guy?” Malcolm asked, attempting to shift attention away from himself.

“Dani and JT went to bring a person of interest in for questioning. Broke one of the first rules of murder.”

“Clean up after yourself. Fingerprints?”

“Yeah. Probable involvement, but unclear what.” Gil rubbed his shoulder. “Can I get you something? You don’t look so good.”

“I’d really just like a shower and lay down. I’m kinda tired,” Malcolm admitted.

“You’re moving better.” His hand soothed up and down his upper arm.

“Mental health has a lot of impact on the physical.”

Gil nodded. “Go ahead — I’ll warm up the bed for you.”

* * *

Gil was used to questionable choices. With Malcolm, they were second nature.

Didn’t help Gil worry any less.

Waiting under the covers in Malcolm’s bed in a t-shirt and shorts, he smelled Malcolm's cherry-coconut-scented pillow, traces of his shampoo left behind. When his partner joined him, he shifted over, leaving the spot he warmed to him.

“Toasty,” Malcolm commented, his back seeking Gil’s chest.

Gil fastened his restraints and pulled him close. He hoped for a nightmare-less nap. Perhaps he’d even take one too, and they could spend some of the later hours together.

Who was he kidding?

He would lay awake watching Malcolm, ensuring he had a peaceful sleep. He did so for a while, his soft breathing palpable against his stomach as it raised Gil's hands. Malcolm slipped further away in sleep, Gil's hand left resting against the sheets.

If Malcolm's hips shifting against the bed were any indication, nightmares were not an issue. A few mumbles of “‘tonin,” “ser’,” and “serotonin,” came from his mouth, giving Gil a chuckle. Unable to get what his body needed awake, he was chasing it in sleep.

His rutting grew stronger, hips rocking into the bed on autopilot with a frown on his face. Deciding this fell firmly into the ‘wake him up’ category they continued to discuss and evolve, Gil spoke in soothing tones against his ear, “Bright, you’re safe. We’re snuggled together. You’re nice and warm against me. You smell like fresh soap, and — “

Malcolm moaned into the sheets, and Gil fought not to react himself. “You can wake up, Bright. I’m right here.” With a brush down his arm, he added, “Gil’s right here.”

Malcolm’s eyes opened, and his body stilled. “It’s Gil,” he attempted to reorient him. “We’re downstairs. In your bed.”

“I should — “ Malcolm moved to shift away, yet Gil kept him close.

“You were asking for serotonin.” Gil smiled, unclipping his restraints and turning his head to give him a kiss.

Malcolm deepened it, their top teeth accidentally crashing together, his tongue following to soothe his lip where they had knocked. He gave a sideways smile when they parted. “I could use some.”

“Can I?” Gil asked, running his hand down his stomach.

Malcolm nodded and slipped a thumb into the waistband of his boxer briefs, his erection springing up on the bedding. His dry humping the bed had been crude yet effective.

Gil kissed his shoulder and reached for him, fingers winding around his firm cock. “What were you dreaming about?” Gil asked on a specially placed warm breath into his ear.

“Science?” Malcolm admitted.

“Labeling parts of the brain and talking about neurochemistry?” Gil wondered, stroking him gently. Oh, how his partner’s mind worked.

“While you were holding me in your lap.”

“That could be arranged.”

At Malcolm’s nod, Gil shifted them carefully so they were sitting up, Malcolm’s back against his chest. Gil licked his hand, giving his grip a bit of a slide. “I don’t think I can — “ Malcolm started.

“All about you," Gil assured, content to wait as long as they needed so his body could heal a bit more. He kissed his shoulder to reinforce his statement. “Serotonin, right?”

Easing into a few strokes, he clutched Malcolm’s thick cock, a velvety glide against his fingers. The feel turning tacky, Gil reached for the lube on the nightstand, depositing some on his fingers and warming it before taking a healthy slide over Malcolm’s length. His other hand played with his balls, cradling one, then the other while he worked his shaft. Malcolm moaned, pushing back against Gil’s chest.

“That’s it. You’re so hot like this. Neurons on fire with pleasure, coming undone under my hands.” Gil tweaked a nipple, pinching the flesh between his nails. “How slow do you want me to go?”

“Fast.”

“Babe just needs to get off,” Gil breathed into his ear. Where he usually focused on teasing Malcolm as long as he could, extending his pleasure until he catapulted over the edge, this had a different end goal. “What part of your brain is responsible for this pleasure response?” he twisted his index finger below his head on his next glide, getting a shudder in return.

“Ahhumm,” was his reply instead.

“You’ve been busy all day working on materials, and you sit in my lap, just needing a little relaxation, a little release so you can keep going.” Gil moved faster, squeezed a little bit harder. “You keep rocking back against me ‘cause you’re full of all that energy. All that drive, and you’re just wanting to show off how pleased you are with yourself.”

Malcolm bucked into his hand, his hips rising from the bed. Gil kissed and sucked into his shoulder while he pinched his other nipple, leaving behind a trail of red marks from the base of his neck to his arm. Unable to remain an uninvolved spectator, Malcolm’s hand cupped his balls while Gil stroked.

The sight of him touching himself alone sped Gil's heartbeat, rushing blood to his growing erection. Those deft fingers could tease himself, open himself, bring out sounds that would have Gil bending to his desires... another time.

He reined himself in, focusing on Malcolm. "Do you like that, baby?” Gil said against his neck, licking and nibbling below his ear.

Malcolm’s moans of pleasure egged him on, moving over his cock rapidly, watching the odometer tick up to the requested destination. He was so pliant, bending back into his arms while his hips kept rocking toward the ceiling chasing pleasure as fast as he could get it.

If Malcolm was feeling better, he'd stop right there, flip him over and plow into him. Or put him to work lapping at Gil's cock until they were both ready to burst. Or keep dangling the edge in front of his face like shiny keys to a Lamborghini that sped away any time he got close.

All that could wait. Instead, he aimed for what Malcolm wanted. Needed, even, to feel a bit more normal. "Come for me,” Gil urged, nipping into his shoulder. “Come, baby.”

On a piston into Gil’s hand, Malcolm striped his stomach. Gil kept stroking him through to oversensitivity, eventually releasing with a caress to his thigh. Continuing kisses from his face, down his neck, Gil gradually saw him back down from the high. Using a small towel from the nightstand, Gil wiped off Malcolm’s stomach.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” Gil said, kissing the top of his head.

Malcolm’s back pushed into Gil’s half-hard erection. “I’m sorry. It’s just — “

“What’d I say about that apology? I’m always here for whatever you need,” Gil reminded and guided him out of bed.

* * *

Malcolm slept like the dead. Gil watched him for a bit first then succumbed, himself, the two of them sleeping until the alarm went off.

But it wasn’t the alarm.

It was Malcolm’s phone. Buzzing along, hopping across the nightstand. Malcolm unhooked one wrist to pick it up and answer it. “H’lo,” he spoke quite sleepily.

Their heads against each other, Gil could hear every word coming through. “This is Detective Weismueller. Campus police witnessed your office being vandalized this afternoon. We got him on camera, but we’re advising you to stay away from the campus.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Alright — we’ll call as soon as we have an update. This is good news, Mr. Bright,” he relayed, sounding triumphant and pleased with himself.

Good. Yeah.

What exactly had they destroyed? His photos of him and Gil? Keepsakes from Jackie? Invaluable things that couldn’t be replaced.

Malcolm hung up and his phone fell to the bed. Gil unhooked his other wrist, and Malcolm turned over to his back. “Gives them more evidence,” Gil said. “Something usable.”

“I don’t even wanna know what they did to my office,” he said, running his hand over his eyes.

Gil knew it was a space of pride, and its destruction must be crushing. “Maybe the bust your mother gave you will finally be gone.”

Malcolm smirked. “Looking for the silver lining, huh?”

“Maybe I’d like to get my partner something nice to replace it.” A new framed photo of the two of them, maybe? A small parakeet figurine? Perhaps something they picked out together?

“Oh, do you?”

“Let’s see the damage, first,” Gil said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you wait until I get home? We can go together.”

Malcolm nodded.

“If you want to go before, please call me. I just… I would feel better if we did this together.” His hand squeezed around his upper arm.

“Sure. I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s alright. It’s not like I’m the visit broker.” Gatekeeper wouldn’t be healthy for their relationship.

“We have an agreement,” Malcolm reminded.

“Kind of.” Malcolm went with him to see Jackie, he went with Malcolm to see his father. It was just what they did. They didn’t need it etched in stone somewhere.

Malcolm gave him a look.

“It’s alright. Really.” Malcolm’s eyes remained tipped down like he was going to get scolded.

“I’ll be patient,” Malcolm promised.

“You?” Gil quirked an eyebrow.

Malcolm took advantage of the look to pull him by the chin into a kiss, his tongue twisting deep into his mouth with lustful abandon. He pulled away as quickly as he had initiated, his eyes wild. “You be patient, too,” he teased, lips pink with a promise to be fulfilled later.

* * *

Malcolm’s feet were antsy by three o’clock, not really wanting to wait another hour for Gil. But a promise was a promise. He could be good.

Sometimes.

He wouldn’t break Gil’s trust twice in the span of a day. That would be dumb. A kindergartner had enough willpower to avoid the timeout chair.

Was he really that bad?

If his nightmares were anything to go by — yes.

He went downstairs and got a handful of Twizzlers, not eating them, just unwrapping a few and taking a whiff, his other hand crinkling in the plastic. The sweet artificial cherry scent relaxed his urge to leave the loft immediately.

He could do this.

Sunshine landed on the counter across from him, peering down at him quizzically. “It’s okay, Sunshine,” he cooed, taking another sniff of cherry. “Gil is coming soon, and we’ll be okay.”

He knew he was projecting. Doing all the things he really shouldn’t, holding his candy in his last grip of sanity.

But he didn’t go to his office without Gil.

By the time Gil got home, he offered, “Twizzler?” to pass off his handful, helped Sunshine back into her cage, and they hit the road for the college.

* * *

An earthquake might have hit.

At least that was what Gil was convinced of when he saw Malcolm’s office. He rested a comforting hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, knowing the sight had to be distressing. It bothered him in a ‘wanting to strangle the guy for interfering with their lives’ sort of way — it could only be worse for his partner.

The contents of Malcolm’s office were overturned onto the floor. His bookcase had been tipped, the few figures on his desk missing, shards from who knew what mixed in.

“Maybe the bust did die,” Malcolm commented, lost looking around the small space.

“Lemme go see if I can find a broom,” Gil said, squeezing his wrist and departing down the hall.

There was a common supplies closet — Gil had been there a few times when Malcolm needed paper, notepads, too distracted in whatever he was working on to realize he was running low, so Gil proactively got it for him. He remembered cleaning supplies lived there, too, so hopefully he could find what they needed.

Pushing down the door handle, the lights clicked on, and he located a dustpan and broom in the back. He grabbed a few extra trash bags and headed back to Malcolm’s office.

Things were not the same as when he left. His partner was on the floor among the rubble, a man in a ski mask looming over him, the two of them throwing their best swings at each other.

Very few of them connected with faces, shoulders and the rubble getting the brunt of the attacks.

Gil dropped all the cleaning supplies and reached to his belt on instinct. “NYPD!” he yelled, drawing his service weapon.

The man’s head flipped toward Gil, giving Malcolm the leeway to push him off and attempt restraining him with a knee pressed into the middle of his back. A pair of handcuffs later, and Gil was on the phone for backup to bring the suspect in.

“Look who I found,” Malcolm joked, resting against the back of his overturned desk, sitting in the rubble. Apparently a few of the punches had connected, as one of his cheekbones looked rather plump.

“Not. Funny.” Gil shared a look he hoped conveyed at least one of them needed to look out for his life.

“You have no place here,” the assailant groused, face full of post-its and mug shards.

“I think you’ll find I don’t fit super well anywhere,” Malcolm said, running a hand through his hair to try to tame it. “What’s your gripe?”

“My family paid for a good education. Now my school’s associated with a serial killer’s son. Not exactly what a future employer is looking for.”

“You thought a felony would look better?” Gil commented, helping the man to his feet as two campus security guards stepped in to provide assistance until the police arrived.

“I stood up for what I believed in,” he said, puffing out his chest. Unmasked, he looked like the twenty-year-old kid he was, the tough look plastered on his face almost comical.

“You can take that down to the precinct.”

The suspect removed to the hallway, Gil stepped closer to assist his partner. Offering a hand, Malcolm pulled himself to his feet and dusted off his suit.

Gil moved his thumb over Malcolm's cheek, lightly tracing the swelling that might bruise. “What hurts?” he asked.

“Got a few into my ribs. A whack to the back of my head,” Malcolm said.

Gil slid his hand around to feel for the damage. Some swelling. “Concussion?” he asked.

Malcolm shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You just had a fall. I think — “

“I’m fine. Really.”

Gil sighed and looked at Malcolm’s pupils, finding them equal. Normal-sized for the lighting in the room. He was speaking fine, didn’t seem confused.

“How about we take a walk over to the clinic?” Malcolm suggested.

Gil knew he was only offering for him, and it brought him more ease than he wanted to admit. “Thank you. As soon as the officers get here.” Gil guided him further toward the overturned desk. “Sit.”

Malcolm sat on the side, Gil holding him steady with a hand on his upper arm. His arm wrapped across his stomach, a sign his ribs were tender. “Can we come back to clean up after?” he asked.

“If nothing’s damaged.”

“Nothing? C’mon, you know what most of me looks like.” Bartering already. His partner couldn’t choose to quibble over where to go to dinner or what movie to watch — it had to be trips to the doctor.

“And I’d be looking at your ribs right now if we weren’t sitting in public.”

“They’re just a little bit purpler than they were this morning.” Malcolm shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal someone had gone after him twice in a week.

Gil rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Good thing I waited for you, huh?” He looked up at him, his eyes managing to convince him joking meant mostly okay.

Somehow, he had listened to instructions. For once. “How long before you started getting antsy?”

“As soon as you left. But it was hard to ignore by three.”

“Not too bad.” He ran his fingers through Malcolm’s hair, finding a lump. “You got hit by the ear, too?” He felt over the bump again.

Another shrug. “I don’t know. Kinda had my hands full.”

“How I feel with you most of the time.”

“Hey!”

“Just speaking the truth.” He moved to rub the back of his neck again.

“The truth hurts,” Malcolm complained.

“Tough shit.”

“Here I thought you cared.” Malcolm pushed against Gil’s chest, giving him a hard time.

“I do, very much.” Gil kissed his forehead and wrapped an arm around him, lingering smelling his hair an extra moment. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

* * *

Malcolm stayed home the next week because he wanted to. Because he knew Gil would feel better if he took it easy, even if the suspect had been caught. Because deep down, he knew it was the healthier option over going back too early and spinning out.

He taught his classes and completed his required office hours, sometimes answering students’ questions, sometimes seeing no one at all, using the time to read papers, instead. Then he escaped to yoga, played with Sunshine, or headed outside for a walk.

On the weekend, Gil surprised him with midday nude sunbathing. My, how his partner was venturing out with his influence. The walls were high enough around the roof that no one could see them. Malcolm had no hope of ever getting very dark, but he could enjoy the calming warmth of the sun. It was therapist recommended, even.

Gil was spoiling him. They stretched out beside each other in cushioned, wrought iron loungers that had been a purchase to thoroughly enjoy coffee on days off, yet quickly became multipurpose furniture in the summer months. They started giving their backs sun first, Gil reaching over every once in awhile to rub his back or knead his ass, keeping contact that shared _I’m still here_. When they turned over, Malcolm tried placing a towel over his lap, but Gil said, “Just leave it — a few minutes aren’t gonna hurt.”

He would personally blame Gil if his balls got burned. That was one type of pain he had _no_ interest in.

Gil on the other hand... his palm rested against Malcolm's hip, and with every sweep of his pinky finger, Malcolm's dick perked, getting a little hard. The smallest of touches, taunting, telegraphing, yet not progressing.

“How are you feeling?” Gil turned his head to him and asked, eyes darting down to the bruising along his ribs.

“Aroused.” Malcolm smirked. Being naked next to his partner might have something to do with it.

Gil slid closer to the side of his lounger, and Malcolm mirrored him so they could kiss at the seam between the two. Their hands slid across, wrapping around heads, wandering over abs, exploring how far they could go while they were still on two separate loungers.

“You up for this?” Gil asked, rubbing his hip through the arm of the lounger.

“Yeah.” Malcolm kissed him back in response, his hand drifting lower to squeeze the soft flesh of his ass.

Gil gave him a show of getting up from his lounger, stretching from his tan thighs, up over his middle, his skin lighter where the sun hadn't kissed, up to his arms that reached above his head for some hidden goal. Pillow in hand, he walked the few steps to the other lounger and laid it at the end. The lounger creaked with Gil's extra weight as he lowered himself over Malcolm, his whiskers tracing the way as he trailed kisses up his chest to his mouth, taking extra care around all of his bruises.

Gil was his favorite blanket, an extra squeeze to push away anxiety's demons and just... be. Melded together, weight pushing into his chest and hips, it was hard to be anything but grateful. Content. A dopey image lost in a kiss, his hands winding in the fuzzy hair dusting Gil's chest and down the long muscles of his back.

"You look happy," Gil noted. Malcolm tried to nip at his lower lip, but he pulled back a bit, resting his arms on either side of Malcolm's head, the welcome press of Gil's frame now a space between them, giving his ribs an unneeded rest. "Is this okay?"

Another check that wasn't exactly necessary. "More than okay if you come down a little,” Malcolm teased, lifting his hips to touch Gil’s. Impish, Gil always told him, but he was quiet now, searching every bit of Malcolm’s face for any sign that things were not as okay as he said.

Gil returned to his lips, exploring his mouth as Malcolm’s hands travelled to knead his ass. Unable to coax some of Gils weight back onto him, Malcolm spied other means. Gil’s hand neared his cheek, so when he took a moment to stop for air, Malcolm snared his fingers with his tongue and sucked them in as deep as he could, tongue teasing swirling around the tips. “Malcolm,” Gil’s utterance encouraged him more, his hips rocking up to press against Gil’s hardening cock.

It got him the reaction he wanted, Gil pinning him to the lounger, both of their bodies squishing into the navy cushion underneath him. He pulled his fingers free from Malcolm’s mouth, replacing their pistoning motion with his tongue. When Gil's fingers pressed into the bruise on his cheekbone, Malcolm grunted, the mixture of pleasure at his lips and pain on his face shooting straight to his cock. Maybe that was a bit of a happy medium to give him a brush of ache he craved.

With a nip at his neck, Gil slid back down to the end of the lounger and pulled Malcolm’s knees over his shoulders. “You been good?” Gil asked, rubbing the outside of his thigh.

“A little bit of sun for happiness, not enough to burn,” Malcolm reported.

“Bright — “

“I’ve been good.” Malcolm sighed as Gil kissed his way up to his groin. Gil’s thumbs rubbed in the creases between his legs and torso, and his kisses moved over to his sack.

Sun. The fresh — “Mmm,” he released in happiness as Gil kissed from base to tip of his cock.

Sunbathing came with… extras.

“Was this all about this?” Malcolm asked. He quieted when Gil’s tongue licked a languid stripe down the length of his cock. Gil’s lips followed, taking in his head, soaking him and sucking at his delicate skin. “We haven’t been up here in awhile,” Malcolm continued, and Gil buzzed his response, sending pleasure tingling to Malcolm’s middle.

Gil seemed to want to take his time, his tongue searching out every bit of his firm cock as his hands tweaked his nipples and fondled his balls. With a departing suck at his crown, Gil's search went lower, sweeping a lick over his perineum and parting his cheeks to tongue his asshole.

“Fuck, Gil,” Malcolm said as the tip of Gil's tongue dipped inside. Whiskers rubbed against his sensitive skin with each lap in, relaxing the tight muscle. One hand worked his dick, the other kept his ass steady at the perfect position for optimum access. If Gil kept that up... Malcolm bucked, searching for something more than Gil's hand to grind against.

That got him a quick ticket back to the lounger. Eyes closed, one of Gil’s slick fingers broached his rim. He'd _definitely_ prepared for this with lube hiding somewhere. He relaxed as Gil teased back and forth, a second finger quickly following in a scissor.

“How’s that feel, baby?” Gil asked, rubbing his stomach with his free hand.

Heaven. Gil’s hand wrapped around his cock, and both hands moved in tandem, working him up to a fire brewing in his belly. “Gil — “ Malcolm whined, squirming at the pleasure.

Letting go of his cock, Gil's free hand reached up to tweak his nipples, pinching and rolling the nubs.

“Gil, fuck me,” Malcolm demanded, needing more contact than his fingers could offer.

“Someone’s eager,” Gil teased.

“Gil — “

Gil pulled away, leaving his hole fluttering, begging to be filled again. “Slide back, Bright.”

Eager to comply, Malcolm flew to the head of the lounger and pulled his knees into his chest, then found a place for his feet to rest on the lounger’s arms. One of the pillows slid underneath his ass, and the weighty press of Gil's body returned as he pulled Malcolm into a wanton kiss, Malcolm tasting hints of his own precome on his lips. Malcolm slid his fingers around Gil’s thick cock, relishing the stutter in his partner’s throat as he reacted to the touch.

Grabbing more lube, Gil replaced Malcolm’s hand and stroked himself. He kissed down his chest, drawing a nipple into his mouth and lightly biting. Teasing at his hole with his cock, he pushed the head into the slick heat.

Malcolm swallowed him up, his dick providing a pleasurable stretch. "I can take — " he started, but Gil pushed in to the hilt before he could get all the words out.

"Chatty today,” Gil commented, his eyes gleaming with accusation.

"I — "

His reply was cutoff by a snap of Gil's hips, followed up with several slow thrusts building into a staccato rhythm joining the lounger's creaking cymbal and drum into his pelvis that had him keening and achingly hard against his stomach, his purpling head peering up at him in brief glimpses in between thrusts. His feet moved from the arms of the lounger to wrapped around Gil’s back, scrambling for anything to hold onto.

Gil's hand shifted from beside his head to grab one of the slats of the lounger below it, giving him more leverage. A whine of a moan sneaked out, Gil riding him like he knew exactly the spot to pool want in his tummy, Malcolm's balls tightening under the rat-a-tat-tat of his partner's thrusts.

Had Gil considered how loud they would be on the roof?

Or rather, how loud _Malcolm_ would be on the roof?

Malcolm pulled his lower lip into his mouth, biting down as Gil fucked into him so his moans and curses couldn’t make it to the surrounding buildings. The whole inside of his loft might have been soundproofed, but he wasn’t going to be explaining to his mother why all the neighbors were now looking at her weird.

“Fuck, Gil,” a curse made its way out as Gil bumped particularly hard against his prostate. His quick movements had him breathing rapidly, caught between wailing his excitement and holding it back.

"Your sweet, little hole is so tight. Wants my come," Gil growled into his ear.

" _Yes_."

"Maybe you need — "

"Ahhhhh," a pained moan slipped from Malcolm's lips as Gil's hand dug into one of the larger lingering bruises on his back, his cock getting impossibly harder.

"Like that, baby?"

"So good." His mouth dry from panting, he pulled Gil in for a wet kiss to slick him up again. "Need you, Gil." He could even go for a press against his ribs, but there was no way he’d be able to convince Gil to do that. That he was up for sex and Gil was willing to play with his bruises even when he still had more serious injuries was a huge win in itself.

Gil’s hips popped harder, a groan ripping from his throat revealing the depth of his own want. Rocking his hips to meet him, Malcolm chased more contact.

The heavy weave of the cushion’s material rubbed against his back, providing a bite to offset the warmth at his front. Sweat dripped off Gil and onto him, mixing with his own in a puddle on his chest, mimicking his insides.

Malcolm slid his hand between them, knowing the action was one of the things that thrummed Gil's pulse when Malcolm couldn’t quite get there on his dick alone. Every smack of Gil's hips, his cock went into his fist, driving him a bit closer to the edge.

"Not yet, baby,” Gil warned, cautioning his seeming overeagerness.

Gil drove into him, several deep thrusts rattling all the way up to his hand resting at Gil's elbow and head rocking further backward on the lounger. He had to be close, the rhythm recognizable as racing for a finish.

"Come for me," Gil demanded, and Malcolm's hand tightened around his own cock.

Curls of electricity wound deep in his belly with each hit from Gil into him. If he just knocked a little bit differently —

“Ahh—fff,” started Malcolm’s loud yell, quickly getting muffled with Gil’s hand. The hand muzzle only made Malcolm come harder, hot ropes of come reaching up toward his chin.

Gil slammed into him, balls smacking against his ass until he came on a grunt, his whole frame stiffening against Malcolm as he unloaded deep inside him on a shuddering stutter-step.

A mellow hum buzzed through Malcolm's body, sated and drowsy. His legs loosened their clasp and fell to the lounger's arms, toes latching onto the metal. When Gil slipped out, he missed the fullness, missed his partner's frame pressing so tightly to his.

“Lay here with me a minute,” Malcolm requested, his hand resting on Gil’s side, head poking up to give Gil’s bottom lip a tugging kiss.

Reaching for one of the towels, Gil took extra care wiping down Malcolm’s skin, first his spend, then all their sweat that had accumulated.

“How did you come up with this?” Malcolm asked, his eyes shut, reveling in Gil's soothing touch.

“Spur of the moment.”

“Uh-huh,” Malcolm said, in doubt.

“Like you said — it’s been awhile since we’ve been out here.” Gil turned the towel to himself, attempting to curb some of the sweat.

“But we’ve never sunbathed.”

“I did it a long time ago," Gil revealed. Malcolm opened his eyes into a questioning gaze. "Before too much sun became a worry. Thought you might enjoy.” 

Malcolm shimmied over so Gil could shift to rest on the lounger, then burrowed himself into Gil's chest. "You can add that to the list for again," he said, a relaxed smile gracing his face.

“I’ll second that.” Gil returned the smile and ran a thumb under Malcolm's bottom lip. "Clean up?”

“Afternoon nap.” Malcolm closed his eyes again.

“After a shower. C’mon, Bright.”

Malcolm curled up more, not making any attempt to get up.

“Bright, you can’t go on campus tomorrow looking like a lobster. C’mon.”

“I’d be the best-looking lobster,” Malcolm returned, boasting about yet another ability.

“Sure, you would." Gil’s chuckle bounced his head.

Malcolm stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, yet extracted himself from Gil's chest, standing on wobbly legs. "Maybe more like a fawn," he said, poking fun at himself.

Gil stood and they walked inside together, towels in tow.

"Missed you," Malcolm said, squeezing Gil's hand.

"You've always got me, Bright."

"You know what I mean,” Malcolm said, unable to find quite the words for what he wanted to communicate, yet he felt them just the same.

"Mmmhmm." He steered him toward the bathroom. "Get in the shower before you fall over, sleepyhead."

“Hold me?”

“You got it.”

They stood together under the lukewarm spray, Gil holding him up, Malcolm lazily soaping, knowing they would both fall asleep as soon as they hit the sheets.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> i've received significant support from so many people in this fandom that help make my writing possible. as this story is E, if you're 18+ and would like to chat prodigal son with wicked awesome people, come on by the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/TVkmgxV).


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